Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the king my father's wreck.
This music crept by me upon the waters;
Allaying both their fury, and my passion,
With its sweet air.

ARIEL'S SONG.

Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls, that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:

Hark! now I hear them,-ding-dong, bell.
A LOVER'S SPEECH.

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel,
The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats,
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,
Might I but through my prison once a day
Behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth
Let liberty make use of; space enough
Have I in such a prison.

ACT II.

DESCRIPTION OF FERDINAND'S SWIMMING ASHORE.
I saw him beat the surges under him,
And ride upon their backs; he trod the water,
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted

The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke

To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd,
As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt
He came alive to land.

SLEEP.

Do not omit the heavy offer of it;
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
It is a comforter,

A FINE APOSIOPESIS.

They fell together all, as by consent;

They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, Worthy Sebastian?-O, what might?—No more:And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face,

What thou should'st be: the occasion speaks thee: and

My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.

CALIBAN'S CURSES.

All the infections that the sun sucks up

From bogs, fens, flats, on Prospero fall, and make him By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,

But they'll nor pinch,
And yet I needs must curse.
Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire,
Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid them; but
For every trifle are they set upon me:

Sometimes like apes, that moe* and chatter at me,
And after, bite me; then like hedge-hogs, which
Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount
Their pricks at my foot-fall; sometime am I
All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues,
Do hiss me into madness: Lo! now! lo!
Here comes a spirit of his; and to torment me,
For bringing wood in slowly; I'll fall flat:
Perchance he will not mind me.

SATIRE ON ENGLISH CURIOSITY.

Were I in England now (as once I was,) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday-fool there but would give a piece of silver; there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man: when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian.

CALIBAN'S PROMISES.

I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee ber

ries;

I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.

A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!

Make mouths.

Pll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,
Thou wond'rous man.

I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;
Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how
To snare the nimble marmozet; I'll bring thee
To clust'ring filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee
Young sea-mells* from the rock.

ACT III.

FERDINAND.

There be some sports are painful; but their labour Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone; and most poor matters Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be As heavy to me, as 'tis odious; but

The mistress which I serve, quickens what's dead, And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is

Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed; And he's composed of harshness. I must remove Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, Upon a sore injunction: My sweet mistress

Weeps when she sees me work: and says, such base

ness

Had ne'er like executor. I forget:

But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours;
Most busy-less, when I do it.

Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO at a distance.
Mira. Alas, now! pray you,

Work not so hard: I would the lightning had
Burnt up those logs, that you are, enjoined to pile
Pray, sit it down, and rest you: when this burns,
Twill weep for having wearied you: My father
Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself;

He's safe for these three hours.

Fer.
O most dear mistress,
The sun will set, before I shall discharge,
What I must strive to do.

Mira.

If you'll sit down,

I'll bear your logs the while: Pray give me that

* Sea-gulls.

I'll carry it to the pile.

Fer.

No, precious creature: I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, should such dishonour undergo,

Than you
While I sit lazy by.

Mira.

It would become me

As well as it does you: and I should do it
With much more ease; for my good will is to it,
And yours against.

Pro.

Poor worm! thou art infected;

This visitation shows it.

Mira.

You look wearily.

Fer. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with

me,

When you are by at night. I do beseech you, (Chiefly, that I might set it in your prayers,) What is your name?

Mira.

Miranda:-O my father, I have broke your hest* to say so!

Fer. Admir'd Miranda! Indeed the top of admiration; worth What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady I have ey'd with best regard; and many a time The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear; for several virtues Have I lik'd several women; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow’d‚† And put it to the foil: But you, O you, So perfect and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best.

Mira. I do not know One of my sex; no woman's face remember, Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen More that I may call men, than you, good friend And my dear father; how features are abroad, I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty, (The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish Any companion in the world but you; Nor can imagination form a shape,

Besides yourself, to like of: but I prattle
Something too wildly, and my father's precepts
Therein forget.

Fer.

I am, in my condition, A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king:

(I would, not so!) and would no more endure This wooden slavery, than I would suffer

The flesh-fly blow my mouth,-Hear my soul speak;

The very instant that I saw you, did

My heart fly to your service; there resides,
To make me slave to it; and, for your sake,
Am I this patient log-man.

Mira.

Do you love me?

Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event,

If I speak true; if hollowly, invert

What best is boded me, to mischief! I,
Beyond all limit of what else* i' the world,
Do love, prize, honour you.

Mira.

I am a fool,
To weep at what I am glad of.
Pro.

Fair encounter

Of too most rare affections! Heaven's rain grace On that which breeds between them!

Fer.

Wherefore weep you?

Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give; and much less take, What I shall die to want: But this is trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide itself,

The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning, And prompt me, plain and holy innocence.

I am your wife if you will marry me;

If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow
You may deny me: but I'll be your servant,
Whether you will or no.

Fer.

And I thus humble ever.

Mira.

My mistress, dearest,

My husband then?